


Work-in-Progress

by Jenna Hilary Sinclair (JennaHilary)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaHilary/pseuds/Jenna%20Hilary%20Sinclair
Summary: Kirk ponders how to mark his first year in command of the Enterprise.





	Work-in-Progress

On the evening before the day that would mark the first year of Captain James T. Kirk’s assumption of command of the _Enterprise_ , he and Commander Spock walked through the corridors of the ship. They’d begun a friendly disagreement over the deployment of Starfleet forces along the Romulan neutral zone during dinner and then taken a break while each attended to different evening commitments. Spock had gone to teach a class on survival tactics, and Kirk had consulted with Commander Giotto over a reorganization of security personnel. But they resumed their discussion when they encountered one another again in Mess Room Four. Kirk had gone there for his late night cup of coffee, reluctantly decaffeinated, and unexpectedly Spock appeared, dialing for the tea he sometimes liked to drink. 

“Headed for a project in the lab?” Kirk hazarded.

“Negative. I intend to review requisitions for our stopover at starbase eighteen in my quarters tonight.”

“Then walk with me while we put her to bed?” Kirk asked, with the hint of a tease in his voice. 

During the months they had served together, he had realized that Spock was long past misunderstanding such human linguistic oddities, at least when not in the company of Doctor McCoy and attempting to perpetrate his innocent-Vulcan fraud on the volatile physician. Kirk’s first officer sighed what was undoubtedly a deliberately audible long-suffering sigh.

“The imprecision of the primary human language—”

“Has produced Shakespeare, Dickens, and Updike. It’s flexible.”

“But not precise.”

Kirk shrugged. “Which is why we have Vulcan for the language of science. Walk with me?” 

“Of course.” 

They walked together side by side through the labs, the offices, and the busy hallways of the ship in its beta shift, evening mode, in the certain rhythm they had established within the first week of their command. The rhythm extended to far more than the way Spock always allowed his captain to precede him into every space where other crewmembers might be present, it permeated the way they talked, the way Spock attended so fiercely to every word Kirk said, and to how Kirk found everything his friend had to say worth listening to. 

It had always been like that between them, Kirk thought after he’d told the second shift engineering crew good-night and they’d left the vast engineering complex. He was feeling exceptionally reflective tonight, with thoughts of the year that had been accomplished demanding some sort of evaluation. So much had happened, and his first officer figured prominently in his musings. 

He and Spock entered the turbolift, Spock ordered, “deck five,” and Kirk thought of how they shared a free and open exchange of ideas, like two streams that came together to form a river, mingling their currents of water. In the early weeks of Kirk’s command, after breaching the galactic barrier, he had desperately needed a courageous officer who wouldn’t back down from him to provide some leavening advice. Spock had been the man. And that professional give-and-take had somehow transformed itself over the past year into this gratifying ease.

“Captain?” 

Kirk looked up from where he was leaning with arms folded against the lift wall, and he allowed a slow smile to grow on his face, one that he directed at the first officer who had perceived his abstraction in a moment and was comfortable enough in this warm space between them to quiz him about it. They had come a very long way from the formal Vulcan who had greeted Kirk on board ship a year ago, minus one day. Kirk wanted to travel even further with Spock than that…he had every intention of being the _Enterprise’s_ captain for a long, long time, plus he had other places he hoped to be privileged to go as well. Where he would travel next, now that he had the first year of the voyage under his belt, had been much on his mind. He found his easy, personal relationship with Spock incredibly rewarding, but it was also frustrating because it was such a work-in-progress. He had never tolerated uncertainty well.

“It’s nothing. I was just thinking.”

There was actually a twitch to Spock’s lips. “There is a common phrase that I believe covers this situation.”

“And that is?”

“A penny for your thoughts.”

Kirk barked his laughter. Spock, he had found, could be uncommonly perceptive at times.

“Will you tell me?”

Suddenly serious, Kirk nodded. “Maybe sometime. Not right now.” 

“Soon?” 

Kirk recalled how in a crisis they had sometimes fallen into such union with each other that it almost seemed they could read each other’s thoughts. Now? 

The turbo opened and they walked down the hall, but before Kirk could frame a reply, Spock said, “Captain, I find I need to consult with you on a matter concerning our reprovisioning. Would you please join me in my cabin?” 

Alarm bells rang in Kirk’s ears. The phrasing was stilted even for Spock; what was going on here? 

At Kirk’s pause, Spock added, “I can offer you a fine wine that I acquired at our last planetfall. Grenache-Shiraz-Mourvedre from Mars Colony Three.”

“I remember, I was there when you got it.”

“Since I purchased the vintage that seemed to excite your interest the most, I presume that the offer of the wine is sufficient inducement for you to enter my quarters.” 

Whatever it was, Kirk was willing to go along with it. He stopped as they came to his first officer’s door and gently said, “You only have to ask, Spock.” 

The moment stretched as Kirk settled into the warm eyes that had already given him so much; Spock had the typical brown eyes of the Vulcan race, but Kirk had never found them ordinary. Intelligent, perceptive, determined, courageous, fascinating….

“I know, Jim,” Spock said quietly.

And then the spell between them was broken as the door slid open. Someone’s arm—McCoy’s? What was McCoy doing in the first officer’s cabin?—extended out into the corridor, latched onto Kirk’s elbow, and pulled him into a suddenly noisy crowd of his senior officers. 

“Surprise!” 

Extraordinarily, Montgomery Scott, Sam Giotto, Scott DeSalle and two other department heads were crowded into the small space that had always been Spock’s most private preserve, along with a smiling contingent from the alpha shift bridge crew with whom Kirk worked most often, Hikaru Sulu and Penda Uhura among them. They were all looking at him expectantly. There was actually a banner on the grid behind Spock’s always-immaculate desk, proclaiming “One Year.”

“What’s this?” he asked, though of course he knew.

“We figured you’d never suspect our resident killjoy Vulcan of giving a party, so what better place?” McCoy released his arm and headed for where drinks were already poured, waiting on a small table against the wall. 

“I don’t think—”

“Now, no protests.” McCoy had apparently appointed himself master of ceremonies. “Here, take this.” The doctor placed a goblet of what looked like champagne in his hand. “One year ago today,” he proclaimed, “we all suspected you were a wet-behind-the-ears captain who would get us all killed. Now we’re grateful to be alive and serving with you.” The doctor raised his own glass. “To Captain James T. Kirk.”

“To Captain Kirk,” everyone else responded, and they toasted him. Kirk stood there and endured it, though even a man of stone would have felt the emotion filling his chest. 

“And to four more successful years,” Uhura added. 

Kirk agreed to that with a fervent “Yes,” and drank with everyone else. 

After they all had sipped from their glasses, the group was obviously expecting him to say something. With a hard swallow, Kirk stepped forward and said, “Thank you, everyone. This year has been a joint effort, though, and you all know it. It hasn’t just been me. I deeply appreciate the many skills you have brought to the _Enterprise_ …and the support you’ve provided this rookie captain.”

“Ach, and rookie you’re being no more,” Scotty said. 

“You officially proclaim it?” Kirk asked, amused. 

“By the power of the bairns, I do.”

“Recently improved by point five two percent, I understand,” the security chief put in. 

“Point five two seven percent, Mister Giotto,” Spock corrected. He’d been standing behind Kirk through the toasts, out of his captain’s sight, and now Kirk turned around to behold the unique vision of his first officer at a festive gathering. Spock looked at ease, if somewhat quietly bemused, but then he caught Kirk’s glance and raised first that familiar eyebrow and then his glass. “To Captain Kirk,” he said quietly.

The lump that rose in Kirk’s throat prevented him from responding in any way. God, he did appreciate this extraordinary man.

Nearly an hour and a half later, the last two celebrators to leave were, predictably, McCoy and Scott, though DeSalle and Uhura preceded them out Spock’s door by just a few minutes. A ship on active duty in a mostly unexplored sector could not afford senior officers who celebrated too long or too vigorously; that’s what shore leaves in predictable locations were for. But Kirk didn’t need to say a word, as his dedicated, professional people slipped away of their own accord until only he and Spock were left. 

“I have noticed, sir, that you did not have the opportunity to sample the blend I purchased,” Spock said. “May I offer you some before you leave?” 

And so they settled down in the warm glow of Spock’s cabin, Kirk on one side of Spock’s desk and his excellent, his best-in-the-fleet, his indispensable first officer on the other, and they quietly drank of an excellent vintage. Kirk inhaled the air—faintly redolent of the usual incense from the small statue Spock kept in his sleeping area—and settled back into the seat by stretching out his legs. He felt filled up. He looked across the desk; Spock was looking exceptionally handsome tonight. Masculine, too, in a very appealing way. Maybe it was the lighting that danced highlights over the black-brown hair, maybe it was seeing Spock in his own cabin where he felt most comfortable, maybe it was knowing the strength of the arms and muscles that lay hidden under the blue tunic, strength that was Kirk’s to command….

After a few moments of satisfying, comfortable silence, during which Kirk watched Spock’s long fingers playing with the stem of the goblet, Kirk said, “Sorry they appropriated your cabin.” 

“It is of little consequence. Although Doctor McCoy did not really give me a choice.”

Kirk chuckled. “I can just imagine. I suppose you didn’t meet me in Mess Four by accident, did you?” 

“Indeed not. I believe I made a satisfactory decoy.” 

“That you did. I never suspected anything was afoot.” 

“What an expressive language Standard is.”

“Not expressive enough sometimes. Tonight,” Kirk gestured to take in the entire space and what had gone on there, “I couldn’t really find the right words.”

“You are generally quite eloquent.” 

Kirk shook his head. “Not when it comes from the heart. Emotions are hard to convey.”

Spock tilted his head as he regarded Kirk. “I noticed no lack on your part tonight. I say that objectively and not in an attempt to placate you.”

Kirk softly smiled. “No, you would never do that, would you?”

“It would not be logical. And I would be undercutting my value to you as your first officer.”

“Your value to me, First Officer, is inestimable.” Kirk didn’t know he was going to say that, and he was mildly shocked that he had. Sentimentality had never existed between him and Spock. 

But Spock wasn’t going all Vulcan on him. He met Kirk’s gaze forthrightly and said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Jim. I didn’t say that just as your captain.”

“But you are my captain. That cannot be denied.” 

“No, but…” The temptation was there to speak his private truth, but Kirk denied it. Instead he carefully placed the goblet on the surface between them and said, “The past few days I’ve been thinking a lot about the last year. The good and the bad. I intend to make a personal log entry evaluating it all tomorrow, and I want to make sure I focus on what’s really important.” He felt the weight of his contemplations settle over him. 

“It has been a successful year for you and the _Enterprise_.”

Kirk asked a question with the cant of his head. “Because Starfleet says so?”

“Because an objective evaluation of events leads to that conclusion.”

Doubt and sudden sadness filled him. “Do you think the eleven people who have died under my command would say so?” He couldn’t sit still and remember those men and women. He was out of his seat without thinking and across the room, staring at a blank bulkhead. 

A heavy silence told him that Spock was searching for the right way to respond. He ran a hand over his face. These contemplations had been brewing within him for the past week, and it seemed that the convivial celebration and smiling faces of his officers this evening had unexpectedly brought his bitter thoughts to the surface. It wasn’t fair to dump this on Spock….

“Those eleven cannot speak for themselves. I will not speak for them.” Spock’s deep voice vibrated right through Kirk. 

Kirk took a breath, determined to expose the worst conclusion he’d drawn. “And if things continue as they have been, then in five years, more than fifty of my crew will be dead. I…don’t know how to face that.” He shook his head at the idea. He would have to face it. “Do you remember Ensign Trumball?”

There was the sound of a chair brushing against the deck covering behind him. Spock must be getting to his feet. “Indeed, I do. He perished on Stardate 4392.1” 

“When he was killed by that flying predator on Wolf V, I realized I didn’t even know what he looked like. I had to look up his personnel file to see: blonde, round-faced, and God help me, with a bad case of acne.”

Kirk slowly turned around to find Spock still behind his desk, with his arms straight at his side, not folded across his chest, not in protection against the emotion Kirk was hurling his way, but open and accepting of it. “Sometimes I feel as young as he was. Other days I feel so much older.” 

“Captain…. Jim…. You are aware that the occupation of starship captain on an exploratory mission inevitably carries with it the potential for self-destructive thought.” 

Kirk sketched the ghost of a smile. “I’m not succumbing to it, Spock. Just…it’s inevitable to look to the past right now.”

“An unproductive exercise for emotional beings in this case, I believe.”

“Is that the best advice of my first officer?”

“And your friend, if you will allow it.”

He stared across the space that separated them, at the open expression on Spock’s face, at what he was offering to Kirk in understanding. Spock was the finest being he had ever met; the twelve months they had shared had been extraordinary in large part because of the unexpected harmony between them. Who would have thought he would find his best complement in a quiet, austere, logical Vulcan? 

Kirk retreated back to his chair and sat. “Do you know,” he said, “when I first took command, I thought I was something. Oh, I tried hard to be humble and realize my limitations, but truth be told I thought I was up to this job—and that Starfleet had made a wise decision giving me this ship.” He gave a short laugh. “God, I can’t believe how naïve, how mistaken I was. My arrogance was punched out of me within the first month. Having to kill one of your best friends will do that to you….” He saw Gary’s face in his mind, his devil-may-care grin, before he’d been transformed by the barrier.

“Lieutenant Commander Mitchell was your good friend and a valuable officer,” Spock said as he seated himself again. “I grieve with you.” 

“Yes, that helped. Your support always helps. But Gary wasn’t working out as first officer, you do know that, don’t you?”

“I suspected.”

“His death…gave me you. As my first officer.” Kirk caught Spock’s gaze and wouldn’t let it go as feeling rose up in him. Life from death. Gary’s death, the deaths of the others who had breathed their last during this first year of his command, had produced a year that Starfleet called successful beyond their expectations…and this: whatever it was he really shared with Spock. 

After long seconds of silence, Spock bowed his head. “I prefer not to consider our relationship in that light.” 

“I know. I’m being maudlin. I should go.” But he made no move to get up, just stared at the glossy cap of dark hair that always looked so soft and at the tips of the pointed ears that marked Spock as different in this crew of predominantly humans. 

Spock looked up at him again. “Perhaps we should consider other aspects of your command. Such as—”

“Such as Lazarus, forever caught between two universes? I have nightmares about that.” 

“I know. Doctor McCoy’s reports on your psychological state have been thorough.”

“Then he must have judged me a wreck after I let Edith die.”

“The most difficult decision any commander could make. I honor you for it.”

Why had he started talking about all this with Spock? Remembering the genuine feeling he’d had for Edith and thinking about Spock at the same time tended to confuse and frustrate him even more. Kirk grabbed his glass and drank from it deeply, a true disservice to the excellent wine Spock had bought…for him. Of course it had been purchased for him. 

“Is this how it’s going to be for the rest of this mission?” he asked, but he wasn’t sure if he was asking about his deep pains and disappointments or the wine, subtly presented without words. 

“Yes,” Kirk’s first officer said forthrightly. “A mixture of failures and success, and always a challenge to the one who must make the decisions. I am confident that Starfleet reached the correct decision in giving you the _Enterprise_ , Captain. But as is sometimes the case with emotional beings, you are concentrating on the negative. I have not noticed that tendency in you before. Have you considered the good you accomplished for the beings of Eminiar VII and Vendikar? Putting a halt to their conflict conducted by computer saved millions of lives.” 

“They had to face up to what they were doing.”

“And you forced them to do so. I found your solution…somewhat blatant but also elegant in its direct way.”

Kirk gave a short laugh. “You don’t like it when I fire on your precious computers.”

Spock cocked his head to the side. “The use of the term ‘precious’ is—”

“Accurate, First Officer,” Kirk said, and he found himself amused by Spock’s admonitory eyebrow. “I was never so glad to be destroying machinery, though getting rid of Landru on Beta III comes a close second.”

“Another culture you rescued from the tyranny of stagnation.”

“Starfleet wasn’t so sure.” 

“You were easily cleared of violation against the Prime Directive. Although this regrettable tendency of yours to take delight in the destruction of inanimate objects—“

“Is, according to Bones, perfectly normal.”

“For an eight-year-old human boy, perhaps.” 

“We all revert to type every once in a while, Commander.” 

“So you say, Captain. Have you heard of the disposition of Harcourt Fenton Mudd?”

“What? That’s bringing up the truly trivial. I hope he’s locked up for a while.”

“On the contrary, he procured an excellent lawyer and is now free on a probationary sentence.”

“So he’s out there duping somebody else now.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Kirk heaved a sigh but didn’t even try to prevent the smile that teased his lips. “That swindler. Harry’s a menace to society and the space lanes…but I can’t help but laugh when I think of him.” 

“I would also bring to your attention another way in which you have made a positive contribution to Starfleet this year.”

“I wouldn’t exactly put Harry Mudd in the category of a contribution, but go ahead.”

“Figaro V.”

Kirk groaned. “White rabbits and black knights.” And the facsimile of Ruth, with whom he’d had wild and enthusiastic sex that had left him yearning for something much more significant. 

“Now the most popular shore leave destination for ‘fleet ships in the sector. I am aware that Captain Frangeli showed his appreciation in a most specific way.”

“And if I thought you liked Romulan Ale I’d have invited you to share some with me. Bones and Scotty have drunk almost all of it already.”

“Nevertheless, there are many in Starfleet who would thank you for the unique gift of their fantasies-come-alive, if they knew who to thank.”

Kirk swirled the wine in his glass, looked down into the moving liquid, and thought about fantasies, hopes, dreams….

“You’re right, of course,” he said quietly. “The _Enterprise_ has done good things for the Federation this year. Even when it’s been painful.” Kirk remembered the face of a Romulan captain, moments before his death, and the brother he had rarely gotten in touch with, now forever beyond his reach buried in the soil of Deneva. “And I have found my place.” He looked up at Spock with a quirk to his lips. “Not to get emotional on you, but this is where I want to be.”

A long silence. Slowly Spock asked, “In my cabin at twenty-three hundred hours?” 

Yes. Right here. Kirk let the moment exist, let it linger between them in the silence, and Spock did nothing to dispel the conclusion that Kirk wanted to draw from his words…. He stared at Spock’s lips but thought of his body, warmth and motion and strength. Passion?

He drew in a breath. “And on the bridge. In command. When I first heard about the five year mission policy, I wasn’t so sure it was a good idea, to give any one person that much power for so long a time. But now I think it isn’t long enough. A captain and the ship…. It takes time to establish the rhythm, to know how to act in the best way for the Federation, to understand the power I do have and how not to abuse it. I’m just beginning to be effective. I hope to be on the _Enterprise_ for a long time.”

“If Starfleet is wise, you will be granted your wish.” 

“And if I’m not,” Kirk leaned back and asked, half-seriously, “I can just go to Figaro V and imagine it?” 

“I do not believe that will be necessary. You are an excellent captain, Jim.” 

“So Starfleet says. I do know that captain is blessed with an excellent first officer.” He tilted his glass in Spock’s direction, Spock mirrored his action, and they both sipped. There was just enough wine in Kirk’s glass for one more swallow, and then he’d have no excuse for staying where he wanted to be. 

He leaned forward with his elbows on Spock’s desk. “You know, I really do intend to summarize the year in my personal log. I’ve been thinking about it for days. There’s a sense of satisfaction, and anticipation, and…just plain sadness that I haven’t been able to do better. But I will get better, become the best commander I can be, and there won’t be fifty men and women who have died under my command at the end of five years. I won’t let that happen.” 

Spock leaned towards him, his dark eyes bright. “I pledge to assist you to the best of my   
ability in achieving that goal.”

“I know you will, Commander. That’s what I need. And…there’s something more. Another consideration, another goal for me. I’ve been thinking about you and how best to summarize you the past year.”

“You have?” No eyebrow soared, there wasn’t the hint of the tease in Spock’s voice. His first officer’s attention was riveted on him, and Kirk could feel the spark of tension in the air between them. This was what they’d both been leading to this evening, what Kirk, at least, had been wondering would ever happen. He would make it happen now. There would be an end to his frustrated uncertainty, at least.

He stood and walked around the desk until he was standing right beside Spock, looking down on him. Spock swiveled his chair around until he could stare up at his captain. Kirk saw the line of spare eyelashes and especially the curve of the lips he’d been wanting to claim for months now. 

He leaned down and placed one hand on either arm of Spock’s chair, so that their faces were very close, and he drank in Spock’s warm gaze. 

“You know what I’m going to do,” Kirk whispered. “You can stop me any time. With a word.” 

He waited in moments of suspended time that seemed to last minutes, even hours, as they hovered on either side of the line that had been drawn between them. Images from the past year flashed across Kirk’s mind: when Charlie had broken Spock’s legs and shock had run through his own body, when Trelayne had threatened to shoot Spock and his heart contracted in fear, when Spock had hurtled across the devastated base to Kirk’s side as the Gorns attacked. And then he imagined more: not danger and threat, but ease and comfort, physical delight and mental exploration, and waking in a bed not alone—but shared with the one who somehow, for some reason, for some unexplained reason was the one he needed to make this first year on the _Enterprise_ …right. Whole.

The one he wanted to kiss.

Kirk allowed his body to complete the circuit that had been humming between them all evening and all year. He moved forward and placed his mouth against his first officer’s. 

Soft. Warm. And more than either of those, accepting, that’s what Spock’s mouth was as his lips molded themselves against Kirk’s. Kirk couldn’t help himself, a small sound of delight formed in his throat as Spock met him more than halfway, and at that moment Spock’s hand came up and…did not push him away but instead tangled in the hair at the back of his head, holding Kirk exactly where he wanted to be. 

He’d intended this to be a small kiss, just the pressing of lips, but there was no resistance here between them, no doubt, Spock opened his mouth and their tongues touched. Their lips, their arms, their minds. For even as their mouths pressed fiercely together and their tongues hungrily tasted each other—God, yes, this was exactly what he wanted, needed!—and even as he felt strong fingers against his scalp—he could perceive each touch of each finger, they were flexing against him as if Spock were ravenous for as much contact as he could get—Kirk felt the whisper caress of their thoughts entwining.

_I love you_

_I want you_

_Together, not alone_

_Together_

…and when he came back to an awareness of his body only, Spock had risen and was pushing him back against the grid behind the desk, Kirk impacted against it, and suddenly the long Vulcan form that he’d fantasized about in the sleepless depths of the night was pressed full length against him. Kirk gasped with the electric flare of his own hardness against Spock’s, and that broke the kiss that somehow they’d maintained through it all, but he scarcely cared. Not with Spock’s whole body there for him to hold, not with his arms reaching to encircle the thin frame that he wanted to know completely, not with Spock grabbing Kirk’s face between both his hands and planting small kisses on his forehead and cheeks and hair. 

Without the meld he wouldn’t have known for sure, he might have settled for just this, just some heavy-duty kissing and then laborious explanation and conversation and eventually the frustrations of eventually leaving to his solitary bed, but even now the meld was humming at a low level between them, and Kirk knew what could be. Spock wanted what he wanted, and they were both ready for more without any further justification: because they’d had their year-long courtship already in Spock’s silent support, in Kirk’s unqualified acceptance, and in the warm space that had sprung up between them where they lived. 

Kirk found his first officer’s lips again, and though the warmth of Spock’s tongue in his mouth drove thrills straight through his body from his mouth to his cock and threatened to end things with a long-withheld orgasm right away, he managed to control himself and guide Spock to the side without separating them: towards the bed. He wanted to get naked with this man, oh, God, yes, he wanted to join them skin against skin and to touch Spock’s cock, to stroke it and watch his face as he erupted into joy. 

Together they made their way through the sleeping quarters and when the kiss ended, Kirk drew back just enough to look into his first officer’s eyes. His arms wrapped around the slender waist secured them together, but it was the gaze that met his that filled him up in a way he had never been filled up before. 

Kirk brushed the tips of his fingers against the dark bangs and found that words eluded him. He’d been right earlier; emotions were difficult to express even for humans, and there was no way for him to say everything inside of him that was clamoring to be expressed. 

And when had Spock not understood him? Those long fingers reached without hesitation towards the meld points, Spock opened the pathways between them, and all Kirk’s feelings poured in a free-flowing stream from him to this man who would be his beloved: 

Gratitude: _Thank you for your support this past year. I couldn’t have been the captain the ship needed without you._

Yearning: _You’re the most compelling being I’ve ever met. I don’t want to stop myself from touching you._  
Hope: _Let this be the beginning. Years from now, let us celebrate this night._

And then…Spock’s feelings for him. 

Kirk literally choked as they all rolled over him, alien emotions that nevertheless complemented his own: _My attraction to you is so logical, see how our katras fit_ and _you have enabled me to reach my potential as a sentient being, this past year I have come fully alive in your presence_ and _I celebrate every day I am with you._

Someone formed the thought—Kirk didn’t know which of them—that it had taken one full year, minus a day, for their feelings to grow, to mature, to reach the state where what they were about to do was _right,_ and how sad it would have been to wait a day, even an hour for this to happen. 

No sadness here between them, but instead a great joy that was based in the heart and the katra but found expression in the physical. A great joy of the body that started with the thought Spock had—yes, it must be Spock—of how he had masturbated in this same bed to the remembered image of a shirtless Kirk walking arrogantly through the gym and then the thought that Kirk had—yes, it must be Kirk—of how he had jerked off to the remembered image of Spock’s hands with those long, strong fingers and what he wanted them to do to him….

Kirk pulled away from those fingers at his face as a huge helping of lust swamped the joined space of their minds and abruptly ended the meld. He had to get Spock naked! “Off!” he growled as he pulled Spock’s tunic over his head, and as soon as he had, a determined Vulcan was working with fierce attention to the catch of his waistband and pulling Kirk’s pants down. Kirk grabbed Spock’s chin and forced him up, up into a kiss with lips and tongues and seeking arms even as they struggled to expose their bodies to one another completely. 

Somehow they got each other undressed and tumbled into the bed with nothing between them except what they were to each other. 

Kirk flipped onto his side—two people couldn’t lay flat side by side on the narrow bunks—as Spock did the same, and in the next second they were pressed tightly together, his arm around Spock’s shoulder, Spock’s arm solidly anchored around his back, and the incredible sensation of body against body. And more. Kirk closed his eyes as he experienced what had teased his imagination for so many months, and that was the solid bulk of Spock’s penis, so hot and heavy, stretched along his belly, nestled next to his own cock….

He couldn’t help himself, all he wanted was to drive forward into warmth and snug darkness—oh, great Orion’s hells, he wanted to fuck this man but now was not the time—and so Kirk heaved against his first officer with all his strength, needing to experience at least that thrill… And met Spock doing exactly that same thing, pounding forward with heart-stopping vigor and the same desires that were driving Kirk, that had taken him over, so that even though he wanted to stop and look into Spock’s face, there was no way he could. 

Kirk’s hips were pumping, again and again, meeting his match, his perfect complement in the long cock that was pumping against him, and he’d seldom felt the sudden rush of electric feeling that washed over him, from his cock, yes, God his cock was on fire and felt so huge, so alive from root to tip, but also from everything else that made up the complicated, unique, completely irreplaceable matrix that linked his existence to Spock’s. 

No way he could stop and no way he wanted to. Suddenly the wisp of the meld was there between them again, and _I never want to stop with you_ rose from them jointly just as Kirk stiffened. He opened the eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed and with tremendous effort pulled back just his face and shoulders as he began to shoot against Spock’s belly, he linked their gazes because he wanted to offer this orgasm to Spock, to the next year, to all the years he wanted to be captain of the _Enterprise_ with Spock by his side and in his bed and his mind.

He saw the wonder blossom in Spock’s eyes and saw how his gift triggered his Vulcan’s orgasm. Incredible, to see Spock consciously surrender control, to give it into Kirk’s keeping with a look of utter trust. Kirk grabbed at Spock’s shoulders and rode the climax with him, keeping the gaze open between them, feeling the shudders that took Spock along with the sudden wet warmth that joined Kirk’s own release at their groins, but what he really experienced was a connection so profound that his heart seemed to leap for joy. 

There had been many amazing sights he’d witnessed over the first year of his command, accomplishments for which he’d been lauded, and deeds done he regretted deeply. Nothing would ever make him regret this night. Kirk leaned forward and kissed Spock deeply, then he sighed and settled back on his side against one-half of Spock’s solitary pillow. 

“Come here,” Spock whispered with a hand urging him forward through the mere inches that separated them, and they rested together, forehead against forehead, fingers upon waists, not wanting to separate.

Minutes later Spock’s hand languidly passed over Kirk’s hip and forward into their mingled emissions. “Like two rivers joined,” he said quietly, and Kirk smiled at how Spock understood. 

“It’s past midnight,” he said, and he kissed the point of Spock’s shoulder.

“One year you have been my captain.” 

“I’ve learned a lot; I’ll be a better captain for it.” 

“And your log entry?” 

“Will be more complete now.” 

“You intend to speak of this?” 

“That I’ve found my life mate? Yes.” He said it with complete confidence because he knew the serenity that certainty brought. He knew how Spock felt through the meld, and he’d known his own mind for months. 

Spock offered him that half-smile that had entranced him from the first time he’d been its sole recipient. “Then I believe that I will need to contact Vulcan. I will cancel the arrangement with T’Pring that would have made her my wife.” 

“You do that. Your captain needs you.” 

“And I need my captain. Always.” 

“Always.” 

Kirk closed his eyes and felt the fingers of sleep tickling him, but he also felt Spock’s fingers at his face and the whisper of _Sleep with me, my t’hy’la._ Yes, he would sleep well with Spock. The work-in-progress that had been two Starfleet officers serving together on the _Enterprise_ had transformed itself into something infinitely more precious. He smiled as he fell into priceless dreams: the next one hundred years would be wonderful. 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> "Work-in-Progress' was originally published in The Celebration Zine, a publication of The K/S Press that marked the one hundredth issue of the letterzine


End file.
